Different is Brilliant
by Ashtrees
Summary: A short series of one-shots about John Watson with Asperger's Syndrome. The third chapter:Yellow
1. Red

**Red**

John Watson was brilliant at improvising.

If _all the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players,_ then somehow John had not been given the script to follow on the day he was born, and no copy of that script had ever been sent to him. Instead, John Watson had to learn to become an impromptu actor.

With no definite script to follow John had to carefully watch the other actors and from that decide what the scene was about, what his role would be and what lines would be most appropriate to the moment.

Sometimes he would get it wrong and the scripted actors would despise him for it; the world would laugh at him and try to throw him off stage. But, John persisted and over time as he grew older and more experienced, his acting ability became near flawless. He memorized all of the lines and all of the parts, hitting each emotional note perfectly. Most scripted actors didn't even realize that he was working without one, and most didn't believe him when he told them that he didn't own one.

But, John still felt no real connection to other people. They were all just players there to strut across the stage, and if one of the writers unexpectedly changed the play then it would upset John horribly. The greater the change then the more upset he felt.

Then one day he met Sherlock Holmes, and the connection he felt towards him was immediate. Sherlock Holmes was brilliant, charming and witty, but somehow Mother Nature had bestowed on him fewer social graces than she had John.

Whereas John wanted to be sociable and had the learnt the script, Sherlock did not care and had deleted it from his Mind Palace. Instead, he tore across the stage, making it brighter and more exciting than it had ever been before, but still upsetting the scripted actors, leaving the majority of them hating him.

"Not good?" Sherlock would hiss at John whenever he managed to shock a roomful of people into silence.

"Bit not good, yeah," John would mutter.

Deep down he was pleased that for the first time in his life someone else was looking to him for answers on why other people acted the way they did. Perhaps Mother Nature had also failed to give Sherlock a script. Or maybe Sherlock's was so dusty from lack of use that he could no longer read it clearly. Either way John felt that life was considerably less lonely now that he had found another impromptu actor to stand on the stage beside him and together they would give the world an incredible performance that would make it cry, laugh and gasp in admiration, because the differences between the actors with scripts and those without them should not be seen as a blight upon the world's stage, but as a cause for celebration.


	2. Orange

**Orange**

Sherlock had always wondered why John tried so hard to cultivate romantic relationships with women; they always ended in disaster.

True, John was very good at the initial flirtation stage and securing himself the tricky first date. He would act sweet, charming and chivalrous, sweeping them off their feet; and usually the first date would be a success, but by the second most women began to sense that was something different about John.

Sherlock struggled to understand what John's short-lived girlfriends could sense exactly, but he theorized that they were subconsciously noticing a lack of reciprocation in his body language, or perceiving a display of emotion which didn't quite sync up with their own.

Whatever the reason they had for dumping John, Sherlock still found John's miserable after-break-up mood irritating, but he disliked _them_ even more. They were infatuated with John for as long as he could wear his "ordinary man" mask and could make them feel special and loved. But no one can wear a mask ceaselessly without starting to feel tired and needing to take it off for a short while. And as soon as they saw any sign of that mask beginning to slip then they would break-up with him as fast as they could.

But, mostly Sherlock wondered why John had to wear a mask at all. Why not just be himself? He was interesting, clever enough and kinder than most people just by being himself. Why hide all that goodness away under a persona?

But, deep down Sherlock knew the answer even if he didn't like it.

The world was rarely kind, fair or merciful to those who were slightly different. Whether one was looking for work, love or even just plain friendship, those who did not behave or think as the majority did were usually rejected and shunned into the sidelines. Those who were even just slightly different had to work so much harder just to prove themselves, just to get people to give them a chance.

Sherlock didn't like it one little bit.

He was fully aware that he was also a social reject, but he also knew that he would never be rejected completely because he was a genius. Sherlock had come to the conclusion a long time ago that as long as he was clever he could be as socially inept as he liked, and people would still need him, still admire him somewhat. Mrs Hudson fussed over him like a mother, Molly Hooper blushed whenever he walked into the room, and Lestrade thought that he was great man; and he knew that he didn't deserve one jot of their affection. John wouldn't agree with him, but then John saw the best in everyone.

He was cold and often callous, but John was warm and always kind, so why didn't people love John instead?

But, perhaps that none of that really mattered because Sherlock cared more for John than he did any other human being. He just hoped that one day a woman would give John a real chance to be himself and love him for it because John deserved that happiness.


	3. Yellow

**Yellow**

John tried wriggling his shoulders from side to side, but that didn't help.

He tried sitting up straighter in his chair with his shoulders hunched so that his shirt pulled more tightly against his back, but felt no relief.

So, then he slouched down further in his seat pressing his back into the chair.

"What on earth are you doing?" Sherlock asked from where he sat at the kitchen table.

"My back feels sort of…tingly…"

"Tingly?"

"No…" John trailed off wondering how he could verbally explain what he was feeling to Sherlock. Inside his head his craving for deep pressure made complete sense. An even sensation of pressure all over his body allowed him to feel safe, calm and more sociable for a few days before the effects wore off. It made him feel less anxious and without it he sometimes felt like he might slowly disintegrate into a cloud of particles and dissolve into the atmosphere. He knew that there weren't many people who wouldn't enjoy a massage, but he doubted that most people would crave for their whole bodies to squeezed and to the extent that they would routinely hide themselves away inside their wardrobes buried under their clothes just to feel a comfortable amount of pressure.

"It doesn't matter," he eventually said. He doubted Sherlock would understand.

Sherlock shrugged and turned his attention back to the task of re-categorizing his extensive rock and mineral collection.

As the day went on John was starting to feel that maybe squeezing himself into his wardrobe was not going to be enough. Really it was his back that was crying out for something to press down on it more than the rest of his body. So, when he went to the supermarket and spotted the large bags of caster sugar he bought two 5kg bags, fantasizing how good it was going to feel when back at home he would persuade Sherlock or Mrs Hudson to place them on his back and arms.

oOo

John lay on his stomach stretched out on the sofa. Sherlock carefully laid the first bag of sugar across his back.

"Are you sure this is going to be comfortable for you?" he asked with interest.

John rolled his eyes. "I wouldn't be doing this if it wasn't." But, at least once again Sherlock had agreed to help John without accusing him of being weird even if he couldn't understand all of John's quirks.

"Hmm. I actually meant this is not going to be good for your lower back," replied Sherlock as he laid down the second bag in the dip of John's bag.

"Stop fussing, Sherlock. Right now I need the pressure more than I need to think about my back." John sighed contentedly as he felt the blessed weight pressing down into his muscles making him feel more solid and secure. "When I was in the army I carried more weight than this for days at a time. That felt good."

"You need a weighted blanket. Or a massage therapist."

"Hmm," John hummed contently, not paying much attention.

He heard Sherlock snort before his footsteps walked away.

"I'll give you ten minutes before I take those bags away. Someone has to ensure that your spine doesn't bend out of shape."

oOo

The next John caught Sherlock lying on the sofa with a bag of sugar across his stomach. The detective suddenly huffed loudly knocking the sugar to the floor.

"I have no idea what you find so comforting about feeling so constricted," he said.

"Each to his own," John shrugged. "I don't understand your need for sorting things."

Sherlock smiled as he went back to his minerals, the sorting almost completed.

John sighed as lay back pulling the sugar bag across his stomach, mirroring Sherlock but tapping his foot happily against the arm rest.


End file.
